The generosity of the field commander’s coin has become contagious, and now round after round is being proffered to the Heroes.

On its stand, with the Innkeeper’s curtains tossed aside sits Rair’s first painting. In the flickering light of the tavern the lines of age, painstakingly painted on Cirosa’s face seem to fade.

After a bracer-less night, our alcohol addled Heroes head off into the streets, stumbling through the district as Torgome pilots them home. To the Inn, to sleep, and to ready oneself for whatever tomorrow might bring.